A Memoir of Wisdom
by PennyOfTheWild
Summary: Sometimes, she wonders if she is heartless.' Because, the books didn't do her justice. Athena-centric,Four-shot. Winner of the Veritas Award.
1. Needs

**A/N:** An early (very early) Halloween gift!fic for Erin, because she deserves it. She inspired, beta'ed and basically brought this fic to life (which is more than my muse, flighty thing that she is, ever did). Do tell me what you think!

**A Memoir of Wisdom**

_(or, A Fistful of Worthiness)_

**I: Needs**

_(or, the choices a mother must make)_

"_**Every man is guilty of all the good he didn't do."**_

_**-Voltaire.**_

Because love is a foolish emotion, she has dispensed with it. Because it controls, and will not be controlled, she has discarded it.

She is rationality. She is control. She is an unyielding strategist, the most brilliant of tacticians.

And the girl is an invaluable means to an intricate plot, as are all her siblings.

Not that she doesn't care; but compassion mustn't precede reason. Compassion is too easily swayed, effortlessly governed, readily manipulated. Emotion is a fickle ally, and must be held under check. Never neglected – for then it will flit to another side and turn against you where it may have served.

_Sometimes, she wonders if she is heartless._

"But you hate his children," her aunt protests. "As you hate him!"

She looks up from the chessboard, at the small, blonde woman seated across from her on the porch swing. One small, dainty foot pushes off the ground, moving the swing back and forth rhythmically in an almost hypnotic manner. Her eyes are a soft hazel with little flecks of green that brings to mind early wheat fields scintillating under a warm summer sun. (Gentle breezes, and the soft kiss of sun rays on bare skin… )

A gold pin shaped like a spray of roses holds back her hair, and a pair of knitting needles clicks back and forth rapidly in her deft, capable fingers. She fixes her niece with a look that is meant to be penetrating, but only serves to look curious.

"Only because it's advantageous," she smiles brilliantly at her, then turns her face back towards the board, aware of the still-on-going scrutiny. _If she moved her queen next to her knight …_

"Advantageous." Her aunt's tone is skeptical.

She plucks the corner of her shawl with long, pale, battle-marked fingers. She could have the scars removed, but she chooses not to. Although, of course, it would be occasionally convenient to have an opponent underestimate her due to dainty, blemish-free hands …

"Yes," she says. "Advantageous." She makes the move. Her aunt sets down the needles, and turns her head to look her full in the face. Twilight sun rays catch her hair, making the fine strands glow like burnished gold.

Advantageous, she muses, because her 'rivalry' with her uncle and his children allows her to weave a web of deception – lets her make everyone believe she can be blinded, subject to an eons-long grudge …

"I don't believe you would do that," her aunt muses. "Sacrifice a child? You aren't heartless. You wouldn't have her hurt willfully, would you? She's your daughter."

Another pawn forfeited, and the game is won. "Oh no," she says, earnestly. "She won't be hurt. Not at all. That isn't needed."

It isn't true, of course, that long-standing grudge. She'd gotten over it almost immediately. It doesn't do for one to quarrel over petty matters with their own relatives, for Zeus's sake. Otherwise … Olympus would crumble from within …

***

"I cannot believe his nerve," she growls, staring across the rows of olive trees nestled in the grove beneath the palace. She knows she sounds convincing. She's been venting about the Children of the Sea God for the last three millennia. Sure enough, the goddess of love, staring up at the full moon, gives her a look of complete distaste.

"Oh, puh-lease," she waves a hand, sending a waft of Poison-scented air her way. "_Your_ girl kissed him, and _I_ think it was adorable! Honestly, they're _sooo_ cute together – I don't know why you get all worked up about it! I mean," looking down at her manicured fingernails and rubbing at a non-existent speck of dirt, "He'd do anything for her, and she'd totally do anything for him. It's so sweet I want to cry, and you …" She rolls her eyes at the moon. "Bloody virgins."

Aphrodite turns and leaves the verandah in a huff, the tail of her robes trailing behind her.

"_She'd totally do anything for him_," she repeats out loud, then laughs, hand clenched into a fist for victory.

***

_Because emotion cannot be forced, you need to learn how to make it work for you. To lead emotion, you must first be free of its power. You must cut the ropes it binds you with. Then you must discover how it acts upon others._

_If you are careful, and precise, you can then have them work for the greater good, whilst they labor under the impression that they follow their own heart's path. _


	2. NeverWillBes

**II: Never-Will-Bes**

_(or, the inevitability of sacrifice)_

"_**Life is thickly sown with thorns, and I know of no other remedy than to pass quickly through them. The longer we dwell on our misfortunes, the greater their power to harm us."**_

_**-Voltaire.**_

She watches the twin archers enter the hall, him tall and gold and merry, his head bobbing to some obscene track, her smaller, lighter, but just as free, and a fist clamps around her heart. She fights it, but it clutches tighter, and she feels as though she has been shackled all over again.

_She was born enchained; the metal of her armor encasing her, body and soul._

They epitomize childhood – the wild liberty of adolescence – the candor of youth. She never was a child; never has been, never will be.

Mostly, she doesn't mind.

_Children as they are, they will never know the beauty of growing up._

Every now and again, though, she has a wild desire to join her ranks, or be his confidante, and run without restraint – or laugh, laugh like her father does when he remembers, "When I was a godling…"

It will not happen. This much she knows, doubtlessly. She is not just a 'person' but a 'symbol', and she cannot forgo her responsibilities, or set down her burden.

_But she is a woman; she has a heart, she has yearnings … yet, neither it, nor they, rule her._

Hers is a mind above – she is her mind, and she will not be governed by a passing fancy, or lose her goal to an ephemeral desire …

Because, in the end, the fancy never was, and the desire, never will be.

***

_Look to the future. Teach yourself to see the results of your actions, and not the deeds themselves._

_Some will tell you 'tis not the destination that matters, but the journey … and yet. Your objective must deserve your sacrifices … or your sacrifices will have been in vain._


	3. Necessities

**III: Necessities**

_(or, the value of a leader and a deputy)_

"_**It is dangerous to be right on matters where the established authorities are wrong."**_

_**-Voltaire.**_

_She hates it when he ignores her advice._

When he appointed her his 'advisor' he let her believe her counsel would never be disregarded.

She knew better than he did, didn't she? She was always right, wasn't she?

She'd glowed when he'd praised her, basked in the honor of the position she'd been given … because after all, more powerful than a leader is he who has the leader's ear, isn't he?

_She hates it when she's wrong, because she never used to be._

But now, when it matters the most, what she says is unimportant. Irrelevant. Beside the point. He looks down at her from his greater height (she hates having to be on the lower ground) and tells her he's made his decision, and nothing she says will change his mind.

"Pallas," he rumbles, looking her in the eye, "that's final."

She meets his gaze stonily, her jaw set, and gives him a stiff nod. "Father."

And then she stares after his retreating back, at the gold-trimmed blue cloak, the little wings on the heels of his sandals, his hand on his sword hilt, nodding at the adoring crowds lining the roadside down from Olympus. Hero-worship for the god who is leaving his home to defend theirs. They will send him out in a blaze of glory; never mind he probably won't come back the same way.

_There probably won't be anywhere to come back to._

She takes a deep breath and steps onto the first white marble stair, beckoning to her brother, who falls in beside her, inclining his head toward hers as they both follow in their father's wake. "He will regret this," she tells him. "And when he does, I will want to make a special delivery." His usually merry blue eyes meet her grey ones, unusually solemn. "I will bear that in mind."

She gathers the folds of her himation and strides forward, ahead of him, because that's where she's always been.

***

"Father, I do not think this wise!" She dodges a gigantic fist and sends a bolt of lightning arcing towards the storm giant's head. The earth shudders as The Smoking One retaliates, a whirling dustcloud starting up from the ground and climbing skywards.

His blazing blue eyes meet hers from across an ocean of wind and clouds and lightning bolts. "What would you have me do, daughter?" He roars, and the heavens shake with the force of his anger, and the storm-giant reels. Her hair whipping into a black halo around her head, Aegis held loosely in her left hand, she draws herself to her full height. "Order a retreat," she tells him. "He is unstoppable. Your forces are diminishing – we no longer stand a chance out here. Olympus is completely defenseless, Father – we must go home!"

_She hates that, when it matters most, there is nothing she can do._

"I will not run away like a coward!" The words are a rumble of thunder, the force of his power echoing in every syllable.

So theatrical. "I am not asking you to run, Father! I'm merely proposing a strategy – a tactical retreat is – necessary – at this point!" She swallows her pride and the lump that has formed in her throat. "Please, Dad. Please."

_If I mean anything to you …_

"No." His eyes are stern and his tone is final. A gust of wind and several silver arcs flash past. Below and around them, the battle rages on.

"Then at least let me go," she pleads. "I wish to convey a message to Olympus."

"You, as my advisor," he enunciates each word with care, punctuating every one with a bolt of lightning. "Will stay here, Pallas."

_And she realizes she has lost._

***

_Power is a façade._

_As is might._

_And position._

_It is only in the hour of need that you discover your true worth. While you await that moment, pray you are not disappointed._

_Pallas Athena, The Year 2009 A.D._

_Olympus_


	4. The Epilogue

**Nuptials**

_(or, the Epilogue)_

"_**The true triumph of reason is that it enables us to get along with those who do not possess it."**_

_**-Voltaire.**_

She isn't surprised when she receives the little cream envelope, gilt-edged and bearing their invitation in thin, elegant black letters.

'Annabeth Chase and Perseus Jackson are proud to announce their engagement … .'

It's all her, the typeset, the card, the spray of flowers, and nothing of him.

She assumes he'd wanted nothing to do with the invites, or, he couldn't have been bothered.

The corners of her mouth lift in a rare (and beatific, Apollo would say) smile, because her ace came through, like she knew it would.

***

"I didn't think you'd come," her daughter looks up at her, gray eyes wide and shining and grateful. "Thank you, Mom."

He stands by her, black-sleeved arm across her bare shoulders, tan face (so like his father's) vibrant and open and bearing an 'I'm the luckiest man in the world' expression.

_He is, but not for the reasons he knows._

Her daughter elbows her fiancé in the ribs, and she has to bite back a smile at the slightly awkward, discomfited look he turns on her.

"I'm – I'm obliged to you, Lady Athena," he tells her. "I thought you wouldn't let this – us – happen -"

"My dear Perseus," (it's irresistible), "I didn't just _let_ this happen. I _made_ it happen."

His jaw drops. "_Made_ it happen?" His voice is strangled, and his eyes narrow. "You -" He swallows. "I – I mean no disrespect, Lady Athena – but you have opposed us every step of the way -"

She laughs, then – sets down her wineglass, wraps an arm around her waist, and laughs – till she's bent double. Annabeth stares at her, a little furrow between her eyebrows – and Percy is – blank.

She knows he isn't the brightest bulb on the Christmas tree … but the look on his face makes her laugh harder.

"Wise Girl," Jackson says, "If I didn't know better, I'd say the All-Knowing Athena's high on something …"

Annabeth ignores him. "Mother, I don't understand."

It isn't often she gets a chance to explain the genius behind her plans, so she takes this one.

***

"_Each player must accept the cards life deals him or her: but once they are in hand, he or she alone must decide how to play the cards in order to win the game."_

_Voltaire_

Fin.

**A/N:** Because, Athena was always so much more than a controlling parent. *smiles* Also, the wonderful quotes from Voltaire ... are purely Erin's doing. She's brilliant. Leave your thoughts!

Also, I apologize for the multiple updates some of you might have gotten … the formatting was giving me a headache … so I kind of … split what was meant to be a one-shot into four chapters … my apologies!


End file.
